


Epilogue

by theydeservedmore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Dean Winchester Reunion in Heaven, Comfort/Angst, Dean Winchester Has Issues, Fix-It, Hurt, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theydeservedmore/pseuds/theydeservedmore
Summary: For a moment, he could feel the sun against his face. Toasting under the midday rays, flashing eye-crinkling smiles at a pair of baby blues...
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 76





	Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skydorkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skydorkers/gifts).



> Thank you, @skydorkers, and everyone else who spent any amount of energy listening to me agonize over this thing. I appreciate you!

Dean Winchester indulged in an infinite, sweeping road, untethered to the passage of time.

The Impala rumbled along, impervious to the miles on the odometer. It was peaceful here; driving without destination. The old familiarity of the driver’s seat. The static thrum of Zeppelin pooling from the vehicle’s speakers. Bountiful, emerald wood whizzed by on either side. Their limbs, golden-cast by the sun, seemed to stretch _up, up, up_ to caress the abundant blue sky.

A smile hung loose on the late hunter’s lips with a newfound lightness. No tension weighed the expanse of his shoulders or worry-wrinkled his brow. _It was peaceful, here._

After all, the world wasn’t ending. Not anymore.

It really, truly was Heaven.

He didn’t _have_ to worry about the things that kept him up when he was alive. Like ghouls, or demon blood, or his daddy issues, or the people they lost, or—

_The things he never got to say._

The thoughts tumbled, unraveling like a loose thread from a sweater. Dean’s eyes flitted to the empty passenger seat beside him. An old ache blossomed deep in his chest with the memory of blue that mirrored the color above the treetops. So _blue, blue, blue_.

His peace frayed, but Dean drove on. The road called to him like a siren song, beckoning him back to blissful ignorance and away from the unresolved parts of his alive-life. Dean was dead, and that was all too okay. Dean was never good at facing those kinds of things anyway.

“You really haven’t seen him?”

It was a lifetime later when Dean was reunited with his brother. They were leaning against an all-too-familiar bridge, beers in hand. The question hung between them, unanswered, but did not thicken the air. A faraway look settled on Dean’s features as he took a sip of his ale. Of all the things that Sam could say in the midst of their reunion _that_ was not one he’d expected.

He closed his eyes and gave himself a moment. A flash of watery, sky blue eyes disappeared under black, inky tendrils. His stomach twisted in knots.

Finally, a response. ”Nah, man,” Dean rasped out, as eloquently as ever. He fixed his gaze on a tree in the distance, fingers absently toying with the label of his drink. He peeled back the corner to allow some imperfection. It had been a long time since he’d felt this zeroed in. Perhaps, the last being when he died.

“Don’t you think you should look for him?”

Dean sat the bottle on the railing and crossed his arms over his chest, falling silent again. 

Sam practically oozed with mirth, relishing the fact that he could still pluck his nerves.

Of course, he didn’t mean to feel so defensive and frazzled by the question, but he didn’t have a _good_ answer.

Here was his brother. Strong and brave, and able to move on from their old life. He made a new family, separate from hunting and their complicated past. And Dean was happy for him, he _was_. Because now Sammy would get his epilogue, the one he deserved. One day, he’d be joined here with Eileen and his son. _But_.

Didn’t Dean envision that, too? Toes in the sand, a couple of umbrella drinks. For a moment, he could feel the sun against his face. Toasting under the midday rays, flashing eye-crinkling smiles at a pair of baby blues...

All of Sam’s successes in life and death reminded Dean of all the things he actively tried to avoid. And he kind of resented Sam for it. Even worse, it really wasn’t the other Winchester’s fault, and it just made him all the crappier for it.

There was so much of it now. Time. And what was Dean doing with it?

_Fucking driving—_

_Not thinking of—_

_How long had it been since—_

Sam's voice broke Dean’s thoughts, forehead wrinkled in that annoyingly worrisome way his brother tended to express. “Y’know, I think you should,” he encouraged. Dean flinched. Noticing his discomfort, Sam scooted closer and nudged his arm against the other’s. “Don’t you think? After everything?”

If Dean could will his brother back down to Earth, he’d strap him to the first meteor he could find and send him sailing to Antarctica. Alcohol was a cruel mistress, and she loved to leave him loose-lipped and desperate. Why, _why_ did he let Sam know about _that?_

”Sammy,” he shook his head, pained. “That was… a long time ago, okay? Cas has moved on. And I’ve—I’m _fine_.”

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes a bit. “It’s always the same with you. Can’t you just, I don’t know, call him?”

“After Jack gave him a Get Out of Jail Free card, the kid’s got him building Heaven somewhere. It’s not like the guy’s got a _phone_.” Dean gave him a look as if to say, _duh_.

“That’s never stopped you from praying to him before.”

Dean let out a dry laugh, as if it was an absolutely ridiculous concept that he would, or _could_ , just _pray_ to Cas in Heaven. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed ridiculous that he hadn’t. The corner of his eye twitched in annoyance. Sam always had to have the obvious answers, didn’t he?

An exasperated sigh filled the space between them. Sam held up his hands in surrender, stepping back from the railing. “Look, maybe I’m off-base here,” he began again. “But, all I’m saying is that it might not be too late. I think you deserve it. _Both_ of you.” With a pointed look, Sam took one last swig of his beer and stepped away.

Dean couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I mean, look at all of _this_ ,” Sam marveled, taking strides on his exit. He halfway spun in awe at the tree-lined mountains. His brother’s eyes were full of wonder, like he’d finally taken stock of where they were. “If he’s really helping Jack out with all of this, it really feels like he made Heaven for _you_ , Dean.”

Oh. 

_Oh_.

He just stood there, dumbstruck, as Sam took his leave. 

What could he even say to that?

Tears stung the corners of his eyes, a fire of emotions swirling in under his skin. More than anything, he wanted to get back into his car and will back any semblance of peace.

So that’s exactly what he did.

With an insistent huff, Dean settled back into the driver’s seat. His fingers trembled slightly with the twist of the key. The way he moved was reminiscent of a hunt, urgent and unnerved, like some big, bad monster was hot on Baby’s tailpipe and he had to hightail it out of there. 

White-knuckled on the steering wheel, he was dead-set on continuing his aimless quest, all the while leaving his brother’s meddling in the dust. 

Dean never let himself think about _that_ day. It dug up deep, bitter feelings that would best be left six feet under. But the thread had unraveled all the way now. All he could see was blue.

Cas left him there, all alone, with a confession and a bloody stain. There was a confession on Dean’s lips, too. One that he did not return.

It had been devastating enough to be ripped away from him, it was worse to know that Dean was inadvertently the reason. Dean slept with the jacket in his arms every night, face pressed into the shoulder like he could still feel the warmth of his palm there.

No, he never came to grips with it.

Dean was flooring it, eyes narrowed ahead. The tears finally slipped down his face, burdened with the weight of his regret. Dean left Cas there, all alone, in The Empty. He should have tried harder, shouldn’t have assumed he’d get let out. _But, Cas did_ , he reminded himself _._ _And he’s here. And he built this... for me._

He hadn’t cried over Cas since that night on the bunker floor. He wouldn’t let himself. But now?

Acceptance and denial swirled haphazardly in his mind. _No, no, no._ He was very certain he did not deserve _this_. And yet, for all the things he felt he didn’t deserve, Dean would have given anything to have his angel with him.

“Cas,” he choked out, voice thick with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, man. I’m… I’m so _sorry._ I should have been there for you. I should have _tried_ —”

“Hello, Dean.”

The abrupt voice caused the Winchester to let out a high shriek and send the vehicle half off the road with a loud _skrrrrrrt_. Wide-eyed and flustered, Dean’s neck nearly snapped as he looked to his right. He found a familiar figure in the passenger’s seat, all-too-calm and fixated on him.

The smell of burnt rubber graced his nostrils, and Dean swore he felt his heart pump back to life.

“Cas,” he choked out, settling his eyes on the familiar _blue, blue blue_ , and then: “What the _frig_ , man?! You almost gave me a heart attack! Give a guy a little warning, would ya?”

The angel seemed amused, cocking his head to one side. “I always come when you call, Dean,” Cas explained, voice feather-soft. “Also, I don’t think it’s possible to give you a heart attack in your current condition.”

A puff of air escaped Dean’s lips in his disbelief. There’s no longer a need for oxygen, and yet Cas could take it from him so easily.

“You _know_ it’s just a saying, Cas,” Dean gaped.

He dropped a hand from the wheel to rub at his face exasperatedly. The hunter tried his best to hide his mortification over Cas materializing when he had, in the middle of Dean sobbing like a jilted teenager. Unfortunately, Dean’s burning red face betrayed him.

This was not how he expected their reunion. Not that he anticipated one of those, not _really._

“I’m—I’m surprised to see you,” Dean cleared his throat, trying all he could to regain his composure. And honestly, he didn’t really know what he meant by “surprised”. Whether he was surprised to see him because of the way things were left (or _weren’t_ ), or the fact that Cas looked as he remembered him—not some angelic warrior or "multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent", but his odd, handsome friend in Jimmy’s meat suit.

It was _Cas_ , though, not the shell of him, that Dean found so beautiful. He all but glowed through his vessel. He ached to close the space between them, lost in those bright, blue eyes. Blue like the _sky, sky, sky._

“I’m sorry, Dean,” came the angel’s even response. Those sky blue eyes scanned the other’s face for _something,_ but Dean didn’t know what. “You came sooner than I had expected. I thought I’d have more time.”

“You’re preaching to the choir here, Bob the Builder,” Dean muttered, not at _all_ bitter he’d succumbed to _vampire mimes_ of all things. He ignored the flash of confusion that blipped on the angel’s face as he tried to ascertain why Dean had referred to him as Bobby. And then, “I’m sorry, too.”

The laundry list of regrets floated in The Winchester’s mind: For leaving him in The Empty. For not checking that he _wasn’t_ in The Empty. For dying so soon. Especially after that monumental sacrifice. For not telling him—

Suddenly, he felt as tongue-tied as he did in the Bunker. A charged silence settled between them, as Dean searched for something, _anything_ , to say. He had to now, didn’t he? To _tell him_ , to _admit_ …

“Cas,” Dean sucked in a shaky breath, an all-too-alive mannerism. “You—You gotta know that I… _Hell_ , I’m no good with this stuff.”

A warm hand laid sturdy on the man’s shoulder, warm, real, and _there_. Dean closed his eyes, tight, his mind pushing and pulling the confessions that threatened to tumble from his lips.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, closer now, and craned over the center console. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I shouldn’t have—”

“ _No_ , Cas,” he insisted, firm. Dean swallowed down his apprehension and opened his eyes, stricken when he found the other’s so full of concern and so near his own. It dampened his nerves to know he wasn’t the only one terrified. They were straddling the line here, and Dean had to make the next move. 

There was one thing that Dean _did_ know. Castiel was here now, with him, and it wouldn’t be fair to make him wait any longer.

“I-I’ve never been good with this stuff. Feelings or— _whatever_ ,” Dean began again, and he couldn’t stop his words now if he tried. “But, you? You come with a whole ‘nother level of complicated, man. You’re not just anyone, you’re—you’re _Castiel_. You’re a bazillion year-old angel with all these extra wings and eyeballs, and this insane knowledge of the universe. You were a _warrior_ _of Heaven_. You’ve had millions of lifetimes wrapped up into one building-sized being. I still can’t picture how magnificent you are, and I mean that in the… in the best way.” 

He found the hand at his shoulder and settled his palm over it, holding him there.

“But you’re also _Cas_. My weird, dorky _best friend_ ,” Dean laughed out a sob. “The guy who I’ve actually been to Hell and back with. Frig, dude, you’ve held my _soul,_ you practically stitched me _back together_. You’ve saved me more times than I can count. You… You built _Heaven_ for me. This stuff doesn’t come with a manual. I can’t just _date_ you. I just,” Dean paused, suddenly winded and feeling particularly vulnerable. “I didn’t think you could think of me that way. Y’know?”

Dean’s eyes darted away for a moment before they found their way back into Cas’s orbit. His friend’s face was so warm, open, and oddly hopeful, just as they last saw one another. The memory made Dean’s heart sting all the more. 

“You just… You just gotta know,” Dean swallowed hard. “That… That I’m scared, okay? And I don’t know what I’m doing… What _we’re_ doing. But it’s always been you. I couldn’t—I couldn’t stand knowing you were in _there_ and didn’t _know_. So… you just gotta know. Of _course_ you can have me. You’ve always had me.”

A smile broke out on Cas’s face, awestruck. “Dean,” Cas breathed out, his expression more ethereal than Dean had ever seen. _Beautiful_.

Whatever poetic oceans they had to cross to get here, they _finally_ made it, and Dean was drowning in the tides of his eyes. 

“You just gotta know that I… that I love you, too, Castiel,” Dean whispered, reaching his free hand out to caress the angel’s cheek with a brush of his fingertips. “I think I always have.”

This confession felt so _right_. This felt sustainable, tangible, for the first time. There were no creepy-crawlies or darkness entities ready to pull them apart. Just Cas, here, gripping him tight like he always had.

They were limitless.

Maybe they’d get their epilogue, after all.

Dean’s gaze beelined to Cas’s lips. He couldn’t tell if some heavenly gravity moved them together or if he willed it with a tug of his coat but, finally, Dean closed the distance between them.

Cas’s lips were surprisingly soft, and he kissed him with a sweet intimacy, all saccharine and passionate. As though they’d been doing this all this time and Cas had the tantalizing knowledge of _just_ _how_ to make him weak. And, oh, why _hadn’t_ they done this all this time? If asked, Dean wouldn’t have been able to name a single excuse, especially with the way Cas was moaning ever so gently into his mouth.

Dean’s skin was flushed with a warm desire. There were far, _far_ too many layers between them. He couldn’t remember the last time he _really_ wanted someone like this, and decided he couldn’t feel like this with anyone else ever again.

“What do — you say we — go for a drive?” Dean asked between kisses. His arms slid up Cas’s coat and draped over his shoulders. He had an impish look on his face, pulling back a bit before Cas could attach his mouth to his again. “You could show me what you’ve been working on. Like my bed.”

“Is sex all you think about, Dean?” Cas asked, voice dripping with pained amusement, his eyes squinting in that scrutinizing way that drove Dean wild.

“I promise I’ll wine and dine you first,” the Winchester teased, with all his usual cocky smugness, but worry visibly bled into his expression. He sighed and let his forehead fall against Castiel’s. “Honestly, Cas. I haven’t—I haven’t been _home_ yet and I’d really like to, uh, see it. I don’t know. I’ve been…”

_Anywhere else._

_What is home without you?_

“I know, Dean,” Cas pressed his hand into Dean’s arm, his touch unwinding the anxiety that knotted in his shoulders. Nothing else needed to be said. “Dinner sounds nice.”

The angel ghosted a thumb over the other’s swollen lower lip. Dean kissed his fingertip in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a gentle delight.

Their mouths met again in a sentimental caress, once, twice, three times more, honeyed and slow. Dean’s hands fisted tight into Cas’s coat, anchoring him there as if he would sink away if he dared let go. 

“Will you stay?” 

Cas smiled in this soft, bright way, as though he’d been waiting for that question for a long time.

“I’d go anywhere with you, Dean.”


End file.
